


I Know That I Could Not Stay Long

by Rosie_Rues



Series: The Rising Storm [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1973, Community: dogdaysofsummer, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-09
Updated: 2006-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:08:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_Rues/pseuds/Rosie_Rues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kent, 1973. 729 words</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know That I Could Not Stay Long

“Jen,” said Paul Pettigrew quietly, and Remus looked up sharply. He knew that tone of voice, tight with hints of disaster.

“What’s that, love?” Jenny said vaguely from where she was scrunched over the tiny stove, the curry she was tending sending spicy currents through the camper van.

“Listen. And you kids – shut up.” He turned the knob on the wireless up, and they all turned to stare at him, eyes wide: Jenny, five months pregnant and still overjoyed with it, her curls sticking to her sweat-damp face; Sirius, supercilious because he was a little shy of these strangers who had come and swept them away; James, bewildered, his face smeared with strawberry juice; Peter, for once most at home of them all.

 _“…attack in Yorkshire,”_ the wireless was saying, crackly with the heat. _“All of the dead are believed to be Muggleborn wizards, or their families, although their identities have yet to be confirmed. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement have issued a statement urging wizards not to panic…”_

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Jenny whispered, her accent suddenly thick.

“What’s going on?” James asked, too loudly, and Paul said, “Shush.”

 _“…we go now to Libby Carstairs in Leeds. Libby, what more can you tell us?”_

 _“…there seems to no doubt that this is an act of terror, Angus. Everyone here is blaming this on Wizarding separatists, although there has yet to be any official statement. The feeling among the experts is that this is an escalation of incidents like those we saw at Shrewsbury and Arundel in the spring.”_

“Oh,” Jenny said and lifted her hands in front of her face. “Not here, too. Not both worlds.”

Paul flapped his hand at them, and they all shot out of the van, tangling in the threads of beads that filled the doorway.

They settled by the stream, hunched together, knees bumping. Below them the Weald stretched out, low and green. There were strawberries in a bucket by the stream, fruits of a day’s picking.

Paul and Jenny had appeared on the Potters’ doorstep a week ago, in a brown camper van painted with blue and orange flowers. The boys had come tumbling out of the house as Paul leant on the horn.

He had grinned at them through his beard and shouted over their heads to the Potters, “Hand over your waifs and strays! We’ve come to take them to the pound.”

“Oh, goodness, how did you know?” Mrs Potter had asked.

Jenny had stuck her head out of a window. “Heard it on the grapevine. You go off and see to your sister, Mrs P. We’ll take this lot.”

“Take us where?” James had demanded.

Peter’s head had appeared behind his brother’s. “We’re going to Kent. Fruit-picking!”

Now, here they were, in a strange county, and Jenny was crying in the van, so loudly it was hard to pretend they couldn’t hear her.

Sirius shoved his feet in the stream, and Remus stared at them, watching his trousers soak upthe water. James picked at the grass beside them. Peter helped himself to a strawberry and sucked at it, face creased.

“I don’t understand,” Sirius said.

Peter snorted. “What, that there are people out there who hate Muggleborns?”

Sirius glared at him, and James snapped, “Can it, Pettigrew.”

“That wasn’t what I meant. She said _both_ worlds.”

“Jenny’s Irish,” Peter said, as if that explained everything.

Remus looked at the blank incomprehension on James and Sirius’ faces and wished fiercely that they weren’t so oblivious. He thought of the things he half-knew, the things adults, his adults, at least, tried not to discuss around him. This time last year, Belfast had been torn apart by bombs. The year before there had been riots. In the months between there had been a steady flow of blood.

“Her cousin,” Peter started and looked to Remus to help.

He tried his hardest to explain, to describe how even the days of the week had become stained.

“But why?” Sirius demanded, scowling. “Why?”

But Remus’ knowledge of Muggle politics failed him. “I don’t know.”

“What use are you, then?” Sirius demanded, blundering to his feet and into the stream. “What bloody use are you?”

Remus shrugged, suddenly tired, and Sirius splashed further out, gazing down at his reflection as if it might answer all the questions they all knew were burning through him.


End file.
